


Loyal to a Fault

by chazpure



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-22
Updated: 2011-06-22
Packaged: 2017-10-20 15:27:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/214217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chazpure/pseuds/chazpure
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>During the TriWizard Tournament, as he tries to contend with Igor Karkaroff's desperate attempts to dredge up the past, Severus Snape finds loyalty from an unexpected source, and more to one student than meets the eye.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Loyal to a Fault

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written in 2006 for Nasty_Shrew for the Snape Rare Pairs exchange on LiveJournal.

I recall quite clearly the debates leading up to the TriWizard Tournament. The staff room was continually abuzz, from the moment Dumbledore made the announcement to the faculty, during our two-weeks' preparation before the start of term, up to the selection of the Champions.

It made having a quiet cup of tea between classes rather a trial.

There was a general hubbub after the announcement, during which Hagrid was visibly drooling at the prospect of having a plethora of new "interesting creatures" to handle, and the rest of the faculty expressed themselves delighted at the honour accorded Hogwarts, but fearful of the dangers inherent in the competition. Dumbledore hastened to assure us all that a sensible age-limitation and other safety measures would be imposed. The more excitable and ~~soft-headed~~ tender-hearted of the faculty breathed a sigh of relief.

As one might expect, it was not long afterwards that McGonagall, Sprout and Flitwick began their "discussions" regarding the merits and chances of their various sixth and seventh-years. They kept trying to draw me into their increasingly animated debates, but I learned long ago that a quirk of an eyebrow and a minute curl of the lip is usually sufficient to indicate my disinclination to participate in faculty squabbles. Minerva, at least, knows me well enough - and _ought_ to know that I am the _last_ person she should appeal to for support when lauding the virtues of her precious Gryffindors.

Filius kept tossing out seventh-year Slytherin names - usually the more thick-headed ones - in an effort to get me to name my own first choices for a Hogwarts Champion. I ignored him. In truth, I hoped that my clever little pests were bright enough to realize that participating in this Tournament was an excellent way to get themselves killed. I planned to hint broadly that their ambitious dreams of advancement would be far better served by making as many friends amongst the more influential of the foreign students who would be staying with us during the year as possible, than by making messy martyrs of themselves in front of an international audience. Oh, there were two or three of the older students whose ambitions were keen enough to override the little sense they had and drive them to submit their names, but I was reasonably confident that one of Minerva's foolhardy Gryffindors or Filius's more dedicated swots would be selected. Brawn or brains, coupled with a dose of glory-seeking and the common adolescent conviction of personal immortality were the key elements of a TriWizard Champion - possibly even a successful one.

None of us seriously considered the Hufflepuffs to be contenders.

Not even Pomona, although she would never admit it. Her defense of her brood was dogged and fierce, befitting a mother badger at her finest. She held her own in the debates, always politely agreeing with the virtues of the Gryffindors and Ravenclaws lauded by Minerva and Filius, but always coming back with her own chosen few: Archie McDougal, seventh year; Felicity Wainwright, seventh year; and Cedric Diggory, sixth year.

* * *

Albus drew me aside the day before the start of term and said, "Severus, I have been meaning to mention to you that I've had the House Elves make up quarters for the Durmstrang chaperone on the ground floor, beside the west dungeon entrance, if that is acceptable to you."

"I hardly care where you put any of them, Albus. I presume the students will be assigned dormitory space of their own."

"Of course, of course, dear boy," Albus said, patting my arm as if I were overwrought. "I only wished to inform you, as I am informing all Heads of House. I dare say Headmaster Karkaroff will probably use his quarters very little; I'm told the Durmstrang students will be arriving by ship."

I may have blinked at him. I know I felt a gaping idiot as his words penetrated. "Karkaroff?" I asked, stupidly.

"Oh, yes, I'm sorry. Didn't I say? Professor Karkaroff will be accompanying his students." There was a glint in Albus's eyes that might have been sympathy or censure, or possibly a leftover bit of soap from his morning bubblebath, for all I knew.

"I hardly think it wise for Karkaroff to be here, Headmaster," I told him, rubbing my arm in reminder. Albus only nodded.

"I know, my boy. But we can hardly refuse to allow the Durmstrang Headmaster to attend. And perhaps it is better to know where he is, rather than merely speculate, particularly now."

"Perhaps."

* * *

It was not long after the debacle with the Goblet of Fire that Karkaroff made an excuse to "chat" with me, privately. In public, of course, we had been polite, even cordial - or the best approximation of cordial I have ever managed. The accompanying indigestion was hardly worth it, in retrospect.

I was tending a particularly delicate brew, just at the point of adding the powdered hematite, when the door of my lab swung open and Karkaroff strolled in, public smile firmly in place.

"Severus, my dear old friend! What keeps you here in this dark, chilly chamber on such a fine morning?"

"Igor," I acknowledged, carefully sifting the glistening grains from their glass vial into the seething potion. The glittering silver powder bloomed red as it hit the liquid in the cauldron, and soon the entire potion was the vivid red of fresh arterial blood.

Karkaroff had finished his idle inspection of my facilities and came up to lean over and stare into the cauldron.

"Very pretty, Severus," he said indulgently. "Bragantine's blood restorative potion?"

"As you see," I said, continuing to stir.

"Expecting difficulties with the challenges?" There was a note of anxiety behind his words, although his calm, superior smile never wavered.

"I expect empty-headed adolescents to continue their usual reckless, foolhardy behaviour," I said shortly, reducing the flame with a wave of my hand. "With the Champions as examples and a new audience to play to, I expect the injury rate will increase significantly." I poured a measure of puréed kelp into the simmering brew, stirring gently. "Shall I send over an emergency kit for your students? Pomfrey keeps the bulk of our medicinal potions in the Hospital Wing, but I furnish each Head of House with a selection of first-aid potions every year."

Igor had clearly planned to take the conversation in a different direction. He opened his mouth and closed it again, his tidy beard quivering as he reordered his thoughts. "How considerate of you, Severus. I do not anticipate any such requirements, but it will do no harm to have your potions on hand."

I looked sideways at him and arched one eyebrow. "It wouldn't do to have your... _Champion_ expire from an untreated hangnail, just before the competition begins," I said, nastily.

"Ha ha," he laughed absently, as though too preoccupied to come up with a witty response - if he had, in fact, actually heard what I had said.

Curious.

I removed the stirring rod and set it aside, dowsing the flame, then transferred the cauldron to a cooling rack. I moved to the nearby sink and began washing my hands, watching Igor pace fretfully to and fro.

In another time and place, Karkaroff's agitation would have seen me equally anxious, pacing at his heels and practically pleading to be allowed to aid him in whatever dilemma he faced. The man I'd known then had been the centre of my universe for a short time, and the youth I had been had lived for the merest traces of his approval and attention.

Fortunately for us all, those days were long in the past.

Karkaroff turned and gave me a briefly unguarded look of hopeless desperation. "Severus, we were friends, once," he began.

The bark of laughter that burst from my lips was hardly a tactful reply. Karkaroff drew back and bit his lip. "We _were,_ " he insisted. "I knew no one better, trusted no one more!"

"Igor, I may have once been your student, your apprentice, your protégé, your catamite," I said harshly, "your conspirator and companion in crime...perhaps even your lover. But we were _never_ friends. Ask what you will, but spare me this pretense of sentiment."

Igor stared at me blankly, then suddenly looked far older than his fifty-odd years. He stepped up and rested one hand on my shoulder. "Never? Not even that one Spring, in Prague?" His eyes were full of sorrow.

In a heartbeat, I was sitting in a café many miles away, and many, many years ago...

* * *

There was a light breeze blowing, just chill enough that hot beverages were a requisite of seats on the terrace. Tea was ours; Assistant Professor Karkaroff sipped his, genteelly, and set the fine porcelain cup back down with exquisite precision, smiling his wintry smile at me.

Seven years of eating and drinking among pureblood Slytherins had shown me what the wizarding world considered good manners; protective colouration had driven me to master them. I could dine at a banquet, seated between Bellatrix Black and Lavinia Rosier and never disgrace my host or betray my own background. When I chose to fling my antecedents in the faces of the "better-born," with my behaviour or speech, make no mistake it always _was_ by choice.

I took a casual sip from my cup and placed it back down in its original position. I took up the salad tongs and looked inquiringly at him. "Salmon?"

"Thank you, Severus," he said, inclining his head as I served him a portion of the marinated fish on its bed of greens. Rather than taste it, however, he stared off across the river, at the city spread out before us, sparkling in the early Spring sunlight. "Lovely, isn't it?" he asked, with a trace of wistfulness in his voice.

"Very pretty," I said without looking or, frankly, caring. "I wondered, Professor, if you've had a chance to review my research proposal as yet?"

Karkaroff continued to stare off into the distance. "A pity to think how easily it could all be destroyed," he said. "In a city of this size and age, our homes and businesses and institutions are of necessity side by side with Muggles. Their culture crowds up against us from all sides. Their technology - do you know it, Severus? - races ahead faster than they can comprehend. If all continues as it has, some day, soon, I think, they will discover that we exist. The news will spread faster than memory charms can be cast, and then...then we will be at war."

I would have brushed it aside as more pureblood isolationist cant, the sort of which I had heard over and over again from Lucius and his well-bred circle, if not for the look of sorrow on his face. "You really believe it will come to that?"

He nodded slowly, then turned and looked deep into my eyes, as if to evaluate my very soul. "My mother once had five brothers. Only three remain. The other two were killed in Warsaw, in 1939. The Muggles were only trying to kill _each other_ then, but do you know how many of our people died in _that_ war? Thousands, Severus, thousands." He turned back to the city. "What they do not understand, they hate. What they hate, they fear. And what they fear...they destroy."

I was suddenly reminded of Tobias, coming home reeking of ale and finding Mum singing and making the cow creamer dance around the table and leap over a cheddar moon to amuse me.

I still had the fragments of that creamer, in a corner of my old school trunk.

"Professor-"

"Igor, please, Severus, when we are away from the students." His smile was back, and I basked in it.

"Igor, then; I--"

He grasped my wrist and held it tightly for a moment, staring intently at me. "You're a brilliant young wizard, Severus," he said. "Our mutual friends' recommendations did not do you justice; that has been evident to me from our first meeting. Our world needs people like you; people who are not fearful of knowledge, nor of the power and responsibility that comes with it."

I stared at him, embarrassed to feel myself flushing. He eased his grasp and merely rested his hand atop mine.

"You and I, we share a love of learning, dedication to our art, the desire and discipline to master the most difficult spells and potions. We seek to wrest order and control from wild magic, to harness its power to our will. With such power comes the responsibility, the sacred duty to use our power for the advancement and protection of our world."

The burning in his eyes was hypnotic. I nodded, slowly.

"I knew I could rely upon you, Severus," he said, his fingertips rubbing small circles on the back of my wrist. I shivered slightly. "There are a number of arcane spells that require two wizards working in partnership, in sincere dedication, and in absolute trust in one another. I believe we could achieve great things together." He smoothed the back of my hand, then picked up his cup again.

"I came here to learn," I said, trying to make him see my conviction and sincerity. "I am willing to learn whatever you are able to teach me...Igor."

His smile finally reached his eyes and tamed the burning to a softer glow. "Our mutual friends are gathering in Vienna for Yule, this year. Lucius has written to say that if I find your abilities in keeping with his claims for you, we should both attend the festivities. There is to be a special guest of honor; I want you to meet him." He leaned in closer, "You will attend as my guest, at my side, Severus," he said, caressing the words. He refilled my cup and pressed it into my hand. "You will have the opportunity to put your gifts to use for a noble cause, and in return, gain power beyond your dreams."

His voice was compelling, and the light leapt in his eyes as I turned my free hand over to grasp his. "I won't disappoint you," I promised him.

"I know."

His thumb caressed my palm, and he curled two fingers around my index finger, sliding them slowly up and down. "You have such... _passion_ , Severus, and such potential. We will do _amazing_ things together..."

* * *

It had not been that night, but it was not many nights later that we sat in his hotel room, sipping a fine old brandy, heads bent together over an ancient grimoire, rapt in discussion.

I traced the shape of a fading glyph with one fingertip, "Perhaps... _to transmute_? Rather than transfigure?"

Igor slapped his knee with one hand. "Ha! Yes! And that makes the thirtieth line _... **transmutation** of precipitates_! Excellent!" He pushed the book away from us and held up his glass to mine. "Bravo!" he cried, as he drained it.

I let the fiery spirit slip down my throat, finding its burn less heady than his praise.

Karkaroff pulled me to my feet and grasped my shoulders. "Severus, we have done it! That process has been lost to wizardry for over five hundred years!"

"We haven't recreated it yet," I demurred.

He brushed that away as a technicality. "We will, we will! The key is the translation and interpretation, and we - _**you**_! have done that!" He kissed each of my cheeks, then paused and said softly, "Bravo, Severus," and kissed me, lightly on the lips.

I froze only for a moment, then my lips softened under his and parted for him. His breath was as hot as the brandy we had shared, and his eyes burned with zeal as he wrapped his arms around me and kissed me passionately. His beard brushed my shaven skin, sending a flush of warmth down my throat and along my spine. I slid my hands up along his back and tangled my fingers in his long, wiry hair, pulling us tighter together.

His lips moved from mine to my jaw, and down along my throat, but there he paused and drew back slightly. "Severus...there is so much I would show you, share with you...I...but you are young, and..."

"Show me, Igor," I said, barely recognizing my own voice, husky with need.

He caressed my face with one gentle hand, then took my hand and tugged me toward the bedroom. "Come with me, then, my friend."

* * *

 _...that one Spring, in Prague?"_

The edge of the table was cutting into my hand where I gripped it, as the visions of the past faded.

The dungeon air was cold between us, despite my hours of brewing. I looked into his eyes and found them empty. "No, not even then," I said, taking a long, careful breath. Memory is a treacherous thing.

"I see," Igor said, taking his hand off my shoulder. He shivered briefly. "Severus, what happened to--"

I cut him off with a wave of my hand. "If you have something to say to me, Igor, by all means say it and have done. I have work to do."

Karkaroff's lips thinned. "Have you heard from any of our...mutual acquaintances, recently?"

If he hoped for a guilty look or a show of fear, I disappointed him. "As a matter of fact, I spoke with Madam Malfoy just last weekend," I said blandly.

Igor snorted, then reached for my arm. "Severus, have you not felt it?" His eyes were fearful. "It woke me, three nights ago - I felt it burn!"

"Shall I offer you a dose of Dreamless Sleep, Igor? Something to soothe your restless mind and ease your conscience?"

He released me angrily. "Don't patronize me, Potions Master!"

"Ah, that pastime is reserved for you, is it not? I fear I have nothing at all to offer you, in that case, Igor. I suggest you occupy your thoughts with your current...protégé, and his needs. That should provide you sufficient diversion from any other concerns...at hand," I sneered deliberately, looking pointedly at his left arm, "so to speak."

"You were always difficult and stubborn, Severus, but until now I never thought you a fool," Igor spat.

I inclined my head. "Your years of careful tutelage have all been for naught, then, Professor Karkaroff," I said, moving to the door. "My condolences." I swung the door open and came face to face with young Diggory. "Ah, Mr. Diggory, punctual as usual. Professor Karkaroff was just leaving," I said pointedly, indicating the door to Igor.

He stormed by me in a huff, brushing past the young man, who nodded politely without missing a beat, "Professor."

Karkaroff paused in sudden recognition. "Champion Diggory, is it not?" His eyebrows rose and he shot an evil smirk at me over his shoulder. "I see you are quite occupied with your own... _protégé_ , Severus. I would not dream of impinging on your...consultation." He strode off down the corridor, leaving me holding the door open and young Diggory watching him in bemusement.

"I'm sorry, Professor, I didn't know you were busy," Diggory said.

"As we are in the midst of term and it is a Thursday morning, it would be remarkable if I were _not_ busy, Mr. Diggory," I snarked automatically, then sighed at the stricken expression on his face. "It is of no consequence, Mr. Diggory. You wished to speak with me?" I stepped back to allow him entrance.

"Yes, sir," he said somewhat anxiously. One could never accuse Pomona's cubs of ill manners or disrespectful behaviour. Unpolished they might be, but I had yet to dock points from a Hufflepuff for failure to address me properly.

Diggory actually seemed sincere, which was refreshing, if puzzling.

"I was wondering, sir, if you would approve my election of the Research Study option in Advanced Potions?" His expression was almost painfully earnest without any of the calculated fawning I might have expected from my own House, the confident superiority of a Ravenclaw, or the barely-restrained belligerence of a Gryffindor.

"I doubt you will have either the time or the undivided attention necessary to undertake the Research Study option, Mr. Diggory, particularly with your extracurricular activities." I sat behind my desk and waved him to a stool at the nearest lab bench.

"I know, sir, but I've been talking with Professor Sprout, and she's agreed that the additional Potions work is essential if I want to pass the Potions and Herbology Newts with distinction."

"Hm. Professor Sprout is quite right, Mr. Diggory, although your usual marks should be sufficient for you to take Newts in both subjects. Academic honours are laudable, but are they actually _necessary?_ I confess myself surprised at such ambitions...from your House, in particular."

A ruddy wave moved up his neck to his cheeks, but he had enough self-possession to meet my eyes.

"It's -" he paused and gave me a searching look. "It's my family, Professor. Mum and Dad - I'm all they've got. Dad's a hard-worker, really dedicated, but the Ministry's never going to recognize that. He's - they're both so proud of me. Being selected Champion - they're over the moon. But I've got to think beyond Hogwarts. I might win this, or not, but I've got to plan for my career. There's a witch Dad knows, she runs an import/export house specializing in live herbs and prepared botanical potions ingredients. She's been looking for a buyer; she might be willing to give me a chance, but only if she's really impressed with my NEWTs."

I raised an eyebrow. "If you're referring to Madam Quai of Phoenix Imports, I revise my assessment of your ambitions - upward. She has been searching for a new international buyer for several years, ever since her granddaughter expressed the desire to get out of the business and start a family, I believe. At any rate, Quai has tried to tempt me away from Hogwarts at least five times in the past three years."

Diggory's flush grew deeper. "I'm sorry, sir; I hadn't realized-"

"There is no particular reason you should have known, Mr. Diggory. As I said, she has been _trying_ to tempt me away. As you can see, her efforts have been fruitless. If you want to impress Quai Mei Ling, you will indeed require a noteworthy performance on the NEWTs, as well as absolutely flawless work on this hypothetical Research Study. What topic had you in mind? No, don't bother to explain now," I said, "I am inclined to approve your request, Mr. Diggory, but only if you have a comprehensive research proposal on my desk, first thing Monday morning. Professors Sprout and Dumbledore will also have to approve it, but as I am sure you are aware, _my_ word will be final."

He practically tripped over his feet trying to thank me and get away - presumably to write up his proposal. It was the first ungainly action I'd seen from him.

It didn't occur to me until much, much later that I had ever thought of him as graceful...or that I had thought of him at all.

* * *

Moody made an officious arse of himself, of course, stomping around and glowering balefully every time either Igor or I crossed his path. I was tempted to slip something untraceable into his hip flask, but decided that it was probably not worth the slight risk.

Karkaroff kept reasonably clear of me for the rest of the term, but as time wore on and my arm began to throb at irregular intervals, I began to notice him lingering in dark corners and staring at me. When our eyes met, his were sometimes contemptuous, sometimes pleading. I ignored him as much as possible, and he appeared to take comfort from cosseting Krum. If he knew I happened to be watching them, he made a show of touching the young man as much as propriety allowed - arm around his shoulder, hands brushing his face, his clothes, and offering him tidbits. It was rather revolting, actually. I knew I had never been such a prize, to be shown off in public and pampered like a lapdog, but Igor's behaviour was so unlike the man I remembered that I began to wonder seriously if he were really himself. Would the Mark manifest on a polyjuiced arm? Perhaps if both the drinker and the subject were Marked...a pretty problem. It occurred to me that it would be a fascinating subject to research, but probably impossible to publish.

In the matter of Research, young Diggory was acquitting himself well. He'd come through the First Task of the Tournament with only slight singes, but his examination of new applications for salamander bile and fireweed pollen was developing into quite a solid piece of research. His work could hardly be called inspired, but it was respectable, thorough, and painstakingly documented.

If I had been in the habit of taking apprentices, I would have offered him a position, myself.

He held up surprisingly well under the attention given the Triwizard Champions. Potter's inclusion didn't seem to bother him much, although I never heard him dissmissive of the Boy Wonder. I did overhear him chide his Housemates for their charmed badges, and in general he seemed largely unchanged from the boy I'd taught in Potions over the years.

The atmosphere in the Staff Lounge had finally calmed down after the first task. Pomona and Minerva had been a hairsbreadth away from a hair pulling and hex-casting fest, after the debacle of the selection of Champions, but Albus had managed to bring them to be civil to one another. After watching their favorites go up against the dragons, the two witches seemed to abandon their dispute. Their conversations were now peppered with concerns over Diggory and Potter. Were they keeping up in their classes? Were they eating properly? Did they seem to have puzzled out the clue to the next challenge? They clucked over their two chicks like a pair of overly protective hens.

Although, given the scope of the Triwizard Tournament, perhaps "overly protective" was something of an exaggeration.

* * *

It amused me to note that although Diggory's work ethic was remarkable, even for a Hufflepuff, his research study had been planned with almost Slytherin craft. His chosen components were admirably suited to a wide number of applications, most of which would be of significant interest to Madam Quai. His discovery that salamander bile accurately detected the presence of imitation dragon's blood in fifteen different compounds reliant upon true dragon's blood for full efficacy was a coup that any established Potions Practitioner would have been proud to claim.

I commended him on his results, as we were reviewing that week's experiment. "You should consider writing a formal presentation of this particular study and its results, Mr. Diggory."

"Sir?"

"For submission to _Amalgam_ , or possibly _Potions Today_ ," I elaborated. "I would suggest the _International Journal of Potions Research_ , but they do not accept student papers, no matter the content or quality."

Diggory blinked, then smiled at me. "Thank you, sir! I...I hadn't considered publication, actually. Do you think they would really print it?"

"Nothing ventured, Mr. Diggory," I said, with a slight shrug. "Even if they do not select it for publication, the experience will be beneficial. The library carries both journals; review their submision requirements. You may wish to write two versions, as the requirements are significantly different. That will save you the trouble of rewriting, should your first choice reject the paper. I rather fancy that Madam Quai would also find your work of interest. It would do no harm to send her a copy, as well. We correspond on occasion; she is a voracious reader and keeps up on all developments in the field."

Diggory was looking at me as though he had never quite seen me before.

"Is there something wrong, Mr. Diggory?"

"No, not at all, sir. It's...I appreciate your advice, sir."

He seemed about to say more, then appeared to think better of it.

I resumed my review of his work.

* * *

It was at the Yule Ball that I first noticed Potter's apparent interest in Diggory. He spent a good portion of the festivities staring at him, all mooncalf eyes and trembling lower lip. His eyes tracked Diggory and his partner, Miss Chang, as they danced about the Great Hall, rather to the detriment of Potter's own performance, which had been no better than lamentable from the outset. Potter's partner, one of the Patil girls, appeared rather disgusted with him as well.

My amusement warred with a growing annoyance. Diggory danced well, his natural grace well suited to the formal attire he wore. Potter, on the other hand, was nearly painful to watch. He had no idea how to handle his formal robes, and even less how to dance in them. He stumbled and staggered, treading on Miss Patil's feet and lurching about like a sot. His partner's exasperation did not seem to penetrate his notoriously thick skull, as he made a general arse of himself staring at the tall Hufflepuff and his dainty Ravenclaw.

I had nearly decided to confront Minerva about Potter's disgraceful performance, but my observations were interrupted when Karkaroff insisted on dragging me aside. He was nearly incoherent, gibbering his fears at me as we stood in the frosted garden, but the more he bleated, the less I remembered the charismatic man I had once admired, and the more I remembered his desperate attempts to buy his freedom from Azkaban at any price.

"Do as you see fit, Igor," I finally said, cutting him off, "But I shall stay where I am."

"Severus, for God's sake--"

I snarled at him, "You mean for _your_ sake, don't you, Igor? It was always about you! _Your_ position, _your_ ambitions, _your_ plans. _Your_ attempt to trade _my_ life for _your_ freedom! I am not a green boy to be led around by my hormones any longer, nor am I a star-struck fool to bask in the reflection of your glory! I have _nothing_ to offer you, Igor, and there is nothing that I want _from_ you! Run and hide, go to the Ministry, go slinking back to our former comrades - I DON'T CARE! But whatever you do, leave me **_out_** of it!"

I left him gaping at me and returned to the entrance hall, nearly colliding with Diggory and Chang.

"Oh! Professor! Er - happy Yule!" Diggory's cheeks were flushed with exertion, or possibly excitement. Chang had her hand on his arm, but appeared unperturbed at my abrupt entrance.

"Compliments of the season to you, Mr. Diggory. Miss Chang," I added, inclining my head slightly.

I wanted to tell you, Professor, I finished the final draft of the paper and sent it off to _Potions Today_ this morning! Thank you again for--"

"No thanks are necessary, Mr. Diggory," I said. "I trust you had someone review your work prior to submission?"

He smiled down at the petite Ravenclaw, "Yes, sir. Cho's been checking it for me, all this past week. We ran through it one last time late last night."

Chang had the grace to blush as I raised one eyebrow at the pair of them. "Indeed. I should expect that your next Potions essay will be flawless, then, Miss Chang?"

The little minx managed to wink at me. "I'll try, sir," she said.

Diggory laughed, and I wondered why I suddenly felt the urge to give both of them detention for a month, on alternating nights, scrubbing the dungeons under Filch's direction.

"Very well, then," I said. "Do not let me keep you from the festivities any longer," I added, with a pointed look at the doors of the Great Hall, from which they had just come.

"We were just going to step out for some fresh air, sir," Diggory replied.

"I fear the air outside is considerably more frozen than fresh, Mr. Diggory. You would do better to remain indoors, with the rest of your schoolmates." I shooed them back toward the Hall, wondering why I didn't simply take points for the snogging they had obviously intended to do.

 *** * ***

I noticed Potter watching Diggory several times over the next few weeks, and once saw them with their heads together over something - Diggory looking rather embarrassed; Potter confused, as usual. There was something furtive about their conversation, and when Diggory finally turned away and left, Potter stared after him for a long while.

I thought that might have been the end of it, as Potter began to spend far more time than usual in the Library shortly afterwards, not that his schoolwork showed any resulting improvement.

Diggory's marks in my class remained steady, but his research work had fallen into a bit of a slump. After a spectacularly disastrous attempt to infuse fireweed into a distillation of salamander blood and venomous tentacula sap (I had said nothing, but moved out of range and donned a dragonhide apron), he had moved on to trying decoctions of bubblewort with a variety of standard bases. It was clear to me that his mind was elsewhere.

"Mr. Diggory, are you planning to scour the dungeons this evening?" I asked him as I watched him listlessly pouring puréed bubblewort into a beaker of distilled hippogryff urine.

"Hm? Oh, I'm sorry, sir, what was that?" he startled and blinked at me.

I pointed at the vessel in front of him, which was beginning to froth at an impressive rate. "All you are likely to achieve with that particular combination is an exceptionally aggressive soap, Mr. Diggory. I suggest you dispose of it before it drowns us all in suds."

He blushed and banished the bubbly mess with a hasty _evanesco!_

"Sorry, sir. I guess I'm a bit distracted."

"I warned you, Mr. Diggory, that this research study might demand more time and attention than you would have at your disposal," I began.

"Please, Professor! Give me another chance! I'll put in more work on it, I swear!" The boy had blanched and nearly reached out for my sleeve in his panic.

"Calm yourself, Mr. Diggory. I was merely about to say that although you have thus far managed your time and energies far better than I would have believed possible, I think perhaps it is time you took a brief hiatus from this research."

"Hiatus? I--" he seemed confused, but less inclined to hysterics.

"The Second Task is next week, is it not? I suggest that you return to your dormitory now and get some rest. Concentrate on the task at hand. When this next exhibition of idiocy is behind you, perhaps your mind will be better able to focus on your research."

He had coloured a bit at "idiocy," but finally nodded. "Thank you, sir. I...I appreciate it, very much." He looked around at the materials spread on the bench before him as if he had never seen them before. He shook his head. "I'll just clean this away and get out of your hair until I'm less of an idiot, shall I?"

I almost smiled at him.

 *** * ***

After the Second Task, it was apparent to me that Potter's obsession with Diggory was growing worse. I saw a pang of longing cross Potter's face with every jibe overheard about Diggory's attachment to Chang. Whenever the pair was within view, Potter stared after them like a starving dog watching food being passed along a dining table.

Karkaroff's mood had not improved since his pet's standing in the Tournament had dropped to third. He turned up in my classroom, a week or so afterwards, with no sense of discretion whatsoever. He was shaking and pale as he clutched his arm and showed me the Mark, roiling black and sinister beneath his skin. I snarled and sent him back to seek consolation from Krum, who would no doubt find some way to distract him from his impending doom. It was clear that Igor wanted to scream at me, and his fingers were postively twitching for his wand, but I well remembered the last time we had found ourselves at crossed wands. I ran one fingertip along my wandpocket, and from Igor's sudden turn and retreat, it was evident that his memory was as good as mine.

I almost regretted it, as my own Mark was growing darker every day, and that insufferable Moody kept his wretched eye trained on me far more than enough to be annoying. But as I told Albus that evening, I had no intention of allying myself with Karkaroff, or offering him any false hopes. If he decided to turn to Albus for sanctuary, it would have to be his own decision. Albus was hopeful, but I doubted Igor would ever bring himself to do it. He would never allow Albus into his mind or give up his devotion to the Dark Arts, and he had betrayed too many to find any welcome among our old companions. I wondered if he thought Durmstrang would be far enough away to save him from the Dark Lord's vengeance.

 *** * ***

Diggory returned to his research work with renewed enthusiasm, and after a week or so he appeared to be making considerable progress on a variant of the standard warming draught formula, often used in cases of shock.

Late one evening, I was engaged in my own research into shielding potions - which I knew with depressing certainty that we would soon have need of - when the lab door flew open and Diggory fairly bounced into the room.

"Professor Snape! Look! Look!" he waved a letter at me and came dashing up to show me. "My paper! It's been accepted! _Potions Today_ is going to publish it!" Excitement fairly radiated from him.

I allowed myself a small smile. "Congratulations, Mr. Diggory. It was an excellent piece of research; it deserves to be noted."

He dropped the letter to the bench by his distillation apparatus and impulsively seized my shoulders, jerking me forward into an embrace. "Thank you, sir! Thank you so much! Mum and Dad are going to be so excited!"

I felt rather as if I were being mauled by an overly affectionate Great Dane, only with somewhat less fur and drool figured into the equation.

And better scents.

 _Considerably_ better scents. The young man smelled...enticing. The scent and the warmth of his arms about me and the tickle of his hair against my neck all went straight to my groin.

I cleared my throat.

"Mr. Diggory," I tried.

The arms about me tightened and I heard the faint click and tinkle of something on the bench tipping over.

"I never, _never_ would have been able to do this without your help, sir!"

"Mr. _Diggory_..."

"I just can't believe it! Published! Me!"

" _ **Mr.**_ Diggory! I would appreciate the opportunity to breathe, at some point in the near future," I croaked.

He released me instantly and stepped back, blushing brightly, but with his eyes still sparkling. "I'm sorry, sir! I just-- "

I shook myself, relieved to find that my ribs seemed intact. "That will do, Mr. Diggory," I said, hoping I had recovered enough of my dignity - and that the inevitable response to his attentions was not visible through my robes. I picked up a cleaning rag and began mopping up the tincture of hellebore that had pooled on the bench. "Did your acceptance letter include a critique?"

"Oh!" He blinked, then grinned sheepishly. "I didn't read past the 'Congratulations, we are pleased to announce we have accepted your submission,' actually, sir."

I hated myself for finding his admission charming, and my traitorous flesh twitched in reaction.

Diggory reached back for the letter and wiped something off one corner before handing it to me. He reached for the cleaning rag and I handed it to him absently in exchange for the letter.

I had unfolded the parchment and was skimming through the letter when I heard Diggory gasp. I looked up and saw him turned half away from me, his body tensed and his fingertips clawing the tabletop.

"Mr. Diggory?"

"Ah--" he gasped and shuddered, then made a strangled sound. I dropped the letter and hurried to his side, pulling him back from the bench.

The cleaning rag lay on the lab bench, glowing in soft reds and pinks and giving off a curl of smoke. I pushed Diggory back, held my breath and cast a silent containment spell over the entire workbench.

The half-sphere of the normally invisible shield slowly filled with ruddy smoke, but it appeared to be holding. I let out my breath, then turned back to young Diggory.

The boy's eyes were glassy, but he appeared to be breathing.

"Mr. Diggory?" I grasped one wrist and felt his pulse. It was a bit fast, but strong. "Mr. Diggory!" I shook his arm slightly, and when that brought no response, I slapped his cheek lightly.

"Ohhhhhhhhhh," he moaned, and his eyes rolled back.

I cast a quick _scourgify_ on our hands, but I feared that it was the smoke he had inhaled that had done the damage.

"Mr. Diggory! Cedric!" I tried, tapping his cheek smartly with two fingers to bring him around. His eyes rolled again, then centered on me.

They were blazing with lust and need.

"Professsssorrrrr..." he groaned, reaching for me. I tried to step back, but he was faster than I anticipated and he wrapped his gangly arms around me before I knew it.

He was ridiculously tall, some part of my mind noted absently.

"Neeeed you," he crooned against my hair, as his hips began to undulate against me. "Oh, need, _need_ you," he moaned, his hands clutching the back of my robe.

I could hardly argue with him, as proof of his physical need was pressed firmly against my own injudicious flesh, frotting with increasing desperation.

"Mr. Diggory," I muttered, scrabbling for purchase as he leaned into me, "you're not--"

"Ohhhh! Professor...hhhhnnngggahhhh," he groaned, pressing me back against the wall and burying his face against my neck. His hands slid down my back and curled over the negligible curves of my hips, pulling us tighter together.

"So serious...so smart...smell so _good_ ," he said in breathless little pants, punctuating each with a thrust of his hips. "Please, please, _please_..."

I made one attempt to free myself from his embrace, but the slight shift seemed to inflame the situation, and I surrendered to my fate.

Or so I told myself.

In truth, finding myself in his arms once had been a brief but exquisite torment. Finding myself there again, mere moments later, with his body shifting hard against mine and his voice pleading in my ear, was an opportunity I would not deny myself, despite his obvious mental impairment of the moment.

I managed to get one hand between us, but rather than my wand, it was his most pressing problem I reached for, slipping his flies open with surprising ease and wrapping my fingers about him.

"God, yes," he gasped in my ear. His nose pushed my collar aside and his teeth fastened on the juncture of my throat and collarbone, his tongue rasping the tender skin.

He whined as I stroked him, vibrating from head to foot with anticipation and need. It struck me that no one else had done this to him, that mine might be the first hand beside his own to bring him pleasure.

I nearly lost myself at the thought. A fleeting memory of Potter mooning after him gave me enough pause to regain control, and I stroked him more firmly, jutting my own hips forward and relishing the pressure of our bodies as I touched him. He whimpered against my throat.

No one else, I told myself, would know this moment. It was mine, and I wanted it.

"Yes, please, please, _yes,_ " he breathed. He bit down and sucked hard on my neck, and I slid my hand lower and pressed my fingers just _so_...and he was shuddering and gasping and nearly weeping as I brought my hand down hard, feeling him jolting, hot and slick beneath my palm.

" _Severus!_ " he wailed.

I closed my eyes and let the spasms take me as well, spending myself in my trousers like a boy even younger than the one who held me so close.

* * *

How long we clung together I do not know. Possibly only a few heartbeats, but it felt like forever. When my pulse had slowed and I felt the tension ease from his arms where they were wrapped about me, I let out a sigh and opened my eyes.

I carefully uncurled my fingers, releasing him, and dismissed the evidence of our indiscretion with a wordless spell. I pushed gently at him and he stepped back, still breathing hard and looking at me with earnest grey eyes blinking behind his sweat-sodden fringe.

When he appeared about to speak, I held up one hand to forestall him. I stepped to the antidotes case and rummaged through it, then handed him a small vial of calming draught.

"Drink."

He obeyed me silently, and the draught seemed to have no immediate negative effects.

"How do you feel?" I asked him, carefully assessing his colour.

He nodded. "Better," he said, handing me back the vial.

I gestured at the containment spell, still holding faint traces of pale pink vapour. "Can you tell me, Mr. Diggory, what basic tenets of laboratory safety we both violated, this evening?"

He flushed at the implicit reprimand, then squared his shoulders. "Carelessness, and cross contamination, sir. I knocked over some glassware, and I should not have used a cleaning rag that had been contaminated with an unknown substance."

"Nor should I have handed you a soiled cleaning implement without checking to see what you intended to do with it," I added mildly. "In addition to recommitting these principles to heart, your next assignment is to examine the accidental experiment field and document the process as best you can. I can tell you that the cleaning rag was saturated with a fifteen percent strength tincture of hellebore in violet wine. The remaining consituents would have come from your ongoing research, so you should be able to identify them with some confidence."

He nodded, but looked worried. "Sir, I'm sorry. I...we..." his voice trailed off and he looked anxiously for my reaction.

I sighed. "Mr. Diggory, you were under the influence of what I would term a remarkably strong inadvertent lust potion, fortunately of fairly brief duration. I allowed myself to take advantage of your condition and molest you."

"Sir! You didn't! I practically attacked you! I--"

"I am an adult wizard, Mr. Diggory, and was in possession of both my wand and my wits. I should have petrified you and attempted to administer an antidote. We should speak to Professor Dumbledore."

"I'm an adult, too, sir," he replied stubbornly. "I'm of age. I knew what I was doing, even if I was under the influence. I could have run to the infirmary, or asked you for an antidote, or, or..."

"Or what? You were in no condition to do anything but act on your hormones, Mr. Diggory. If you do not wish to lodge a complaint," I said, "Then perhaps..."

He was quick on the uptake. "I don't want a memory charm, either, sir. I...I only regret that I forced my unwanted attentions on you, Professor. I hope...I..." he slumped onto a stool and sighed. "I don't suppose detention would be appropriate?" he asked, quirking one lip in half a smile.

My own lips curled slightly at the thought as well. "No, I think not, Mr. Diggory."

"You called me Cedric," he said wistfully.

"Yes," I said quietly, "but I cannot and will not do so again, Mr. Diggory." I put one hand on his shoulder. "Not while you are a student at this school and I am your professor. And when those conditions no longer apply, you have a career to carve for yourself. It was a moment of madness, Mr. Diggory. Yours we may ascribe to the potion. My own...well, I have committed worse sins, and far more regrettable."

He looked up at me at that. " _Do_ you regret it?"

I gently brushed the hair back from his face. "No."

* * *

 _  
5 July, 1995_

 _Madam Quai Mei Ling  
Director  
Phoenix Imports  
Painter Close Anchorage Park  
Portsmouth _

_and_

 _Phoenix Imports Worldwide  
999 Fuk Luk San Way  
Shanghai_

 _Dear Mei Ling,_

 _I regret to inform you that your generous offer of a paid Summer apprenticeship to Cedric Diggory unfortunately cannot be accepted, due to Mr. Diggory's untimely death on 24 June._

 _If you have not kept abreast of recent British wizarding news, you may not have heard that there have been signs of increased Death Eater activities over the past year. Mr. Diggory is believed to have fallen victim to them._

 _It is certainly most regrettable, as Mr. Diggory showed significant promise in his studies, particularly in the areas of Potions research and Herbology. A student paper of his on new applications of salamander bile appeared in the June issue of **Potions Today** , and I am sure he would have continued to distinguish himself in the field, had he lived._

 _I have taken the liberty of forwarding your letter through Pomona Sprout to Diggory's parents, as she feels they would wish to know of your offer to their son. I understand you are acquainted with Mr. Diggory; you may wish to communicate more directly with the family yourself._

 _Professors Dumbledore and Sprout send their greetings and invite you to visit Hogwarts when next you are in Scotland. Owl me before you stop by; I have recently acquired a collection of dragon eggshells you might like to examine._

 _I wish to thank you on my own behalf for your offer of apprenticeship to young Diggory. He was an able student and would have been an asset to any employer._

 _He will be missed._

 _Yours,_

 _S. Snape_

 

~end~


End file.
